An Outlaw's Honor

by TERRI BRISBIN

  “You there,” Margaret said as soon as Annora’s father was gone. “You bring some food so that the lady can break her fast.” The guard at whom she aimed her orders looked as though he would refuse until Annora nodded. “And you, bring those trunks away from the side of the tent where rain could ruin them.”

  Annora waited while Margaret issued a few more commands about her lady’s safety and comfort and established herself in the hierarchy of servants before allowing Margaret to dress her once more, in one of her finest chemises and kirtles. This time, Margaret arranged her hair and wisely used a wimple to cover her neck. After her maid placed a veil over that and used a circlet to hold it all in place, Annora stood to leave. Margaret held out a wispy bit of fabric to her.

  “Put this in your sleeve, my lady,” she said.

  Another veil.

  “I do not wish to favor le Govic,” she admitted softly.

  “What you wish to do and what you will do are two different matters, my lady.”

  Annora stared at the bit of material that would say so much and willed herself to take it. She must play her part, even while she hoped Thomas would play his. Accepting it and easing it up under the edge of her sleeve, Annora nodded.

  “When did you become so wise, Margaret?”

  Annora drew in a last deep breath before nodding to Margaret to lift the flap of the tent for her. At this point, she had taken the only step she could to control her fate, and now she must wait to see it through. If, if things went as badly as they could, she would belong to Le Govic at the end of this tournament, so raising his ire was not the smart thing to do. With all that in mind, she forced a smile on her face and stepped outside.

  The layers of fabric that made up her father’s tent had blocked much of the sounds and sun, and Annora stood in shock at the loudness and brightness that surrounded her now. A nod at the waiting guard had him begin their walk to the place in the stands where her father awaited her. Though Margaret followed close behind, Annora felt isolated and alone as they moved through the teeming mass of people who gathered near to and in the area leading to the lists.

  Even though terror filled her at the thought of what could happen, she could not fight the rising excitement of seeing so many people and hearing so many familiar and unfamiliar voices and accents. The highest and lowest of several lands were here now, and she tried to concentrate on the guard ahead of her as they moved on. Just as in the market yesterday, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the scents and colors, and the sounds of horns and clashing swords and cheering.

  It took some time for them to make their way from the area where most of the tents were located over to the lists where the jousts and fighting took place. Lord Yves had built three long fields of honor that were next to more practice fields and the stabling area. In the other direction was an area she’d been warned about—a large and rather rough makeshift tavern stood nearer the river, along with the place where women sold their wares and themselves. Her father and le Govic had been coming from that direction when he’d intercepted her. A shiver of revulsion shook her at just the fleeting memory of that.

  She could see that her guard escorted her towards the large viewing stand where nobles and honored guests could watch the fighting from a platform above where most stood. Once more, ladies in all colors and styles gathered, cooing over the knights who rode and fought before them, as those who stood below shouted out both encouragement and curses. The jousts that were part of the tournament had begun the day before, and already there was talk of who would win the final prize heard her father calling out to her from ahead, and she peeked around the guard to see him. He was speaking to Lord Yves but stopped as she approached.

  So much intrigue swirled around them, and Annora prayed that she would not suffer more for the choices these powerful men made. Whispers she’d overheard before leaving home about the true puppeteer behind this whole endeavor made her nervous. With the king yet across the sea, his ambitious brother was let loose on England, forming strange and secret alliances that even a woman as sheltered as she’d been could tell were portends of trouble. Annora reached the baron’s place and curtsied to him and her father.

  “Here she is now, Baron de la Rose. Annora, since our champion is fighting this morn, Lord Yves has reserved a place for you at his side.”

  “I am honored, my lord,” she said as she stepped over to the open seat there and sat. Her father returned to his place on Lord Yves’s other side, and their whispers continued unabated until le Govic’s name was called out by the herald.

  “He has a full morning of challenges, I’ve been told,” the baron said to her father, now speaking openly.

  “Le Govic is not cowardly like some others who will fight here,” her father boasted as a shudder trembled through her. Keeping a smile in place was growing harder by the moment. “He will fight and defeat anyone who comes before him.”

  Annora could not hear Lord Yves’s reply, but she met his frank stare at her as her father boasted. She broadened her smile and nodded in what she hoped was an appropriate manner until he turned his wise gaze away.

  “Here, he comes now!” her father said as he leapt to his feet and clapped as the dangerous man and his opponent approached the stand.

  Though given a full introduction, Annora was so distracted by worry that all she could remember was that le Govic’s opponent was a knight from England named Robert of…someplace. As the rules were pronounced once more to all, le Govic raked her with his hot and lustful gaze—from the top of her head down to her toes. She could almost feel his grasping fingers digging into her skin and the tight hold on her neck as he did.

  “Lady Annora?” Lord Yves's deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Your champion would like a token from you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Le Govic moved closer to the railing and held out his lance in her direction. His mount snorted and tried to rear up, as obnoxious in his behavior as his rider. Le Govic’s smile now was more a leer than anything else. Knowing she must play her part while she prayed for the outcome she needed, Annora reached into her sleeve and pulled out the small wisp of veil that Margaret, God bless the woman, had urged her to take.

  “Sir Laurence,” she said, nodding at him as her stomach threatened to rebel. “I wish you a successful battle.” And may your opponents drive you to the ground and batter you to pieces. With her false smile firmly in place, she reached over and tied the token on his offered lance.

  “I will bring you—us—great honor, my lady,” he called out. She tried to control her reaction to his words, especially his use of the word honor, but thought the wince might have been seen. Her father’s rough pinch to the back of her arm told her so. Annora straightened up and nodded.

  Though the cheering from the crowd watching covered most of what he said, Annora’s father whispered into her ear. In every word, she heard the sound of her father’s desperation, for clearly, he was involved in something that was about more than this affair. Even more dangerous than tying her future to that of Le Govic.

  Something dark swirled around them here at this momentous gathering. Something that seemed to involve the very balance of power among kingdoms and nobles. A whispered word here. A suspicious glance there. Small conclaves where words were guarded. Oh, something was going on here at Lord Yves’s tournament, and Annora knew her father was in it deeply.

  Soon, the thunderous pounding of the horses’ hooves echoed in her own heart, and she turned her attention to the two knights there on the field. Le Govic was bigger than his opponent, but the other knight did not hesitate to charge him. She prepared for the crash of the lances into armor as they drew closer, and even knowing it would happen did not diminish the shock of it.

  Gasps, shouts and cries filled the air as those watching jumped to their feet as they waited to see if either man would fall. The crowd’s keen disappointment echoed across the lists as both men kept their seats, lances unbroken, and looked none wor
se for it. It took little time for the le Govic and Sir Robert to return to their starting places and begin their charge once more. Annora held her breath and prayed.

  Le Govic injured so that he could compete no more. She would have wished for a more permanent end, but she dared not tempt the Almighty with such a plea. So, le Govic knocked senseless on the ground, with possibly a broken arm, was what she asked for instead. Truly, any injury that would prevent him from fighting with Thomas or hinder his chances of winning against the man she wanted to win.

  This next round resulted in the loud breaking of Sir Robert’s lance, giving points and applause to the man. When le Govic raised the shield of his helm, his displeasure was clear. He’d expected to deliver a quick defeat to his English opponent, and his angry expression turned even darker as the victorious knight waved to those cheering for him.

  Though of short acquaintance, Annora had seen what le Govic did when his aims were thwarted. Her hand touched the bruises on her neck before she knew it. A shudder trembled through her, and she tried to hide it by adjusting her wimple.

  The call for the knights to begin came, and those watching cheered anew. Once more, Annora stared ahead and prepared herself for the deafening sounds—hooves, weapons, lances and the shouting of spectators. Splintering wood against metal forced her gaze to the two knights, and she nearly shouted her joy when she noticed that le Govic’s opponent had won points in the encounter. Though not unseated, le Govic looked shaken.

  One could not take a lance to the chest without being worse for it, even if wearing armor. No dents were obvious, but any number of injuries and faults could be hidden from view by their surcoats. As she knew, no warrior wished to display their weaknesses while still in battle. And this was nothing less than a battle.

  It took longer for le Govic to regain his balance, and for a moment—one not long enough for her—it looked as though he might fall. But he pulled himself up straight on the saddle and nodded that he was ready.

  One more hit like this one could unseat him. One good blow could take him down. Annora uncharitably prayed for those things as the two men took their places at opposite ends of the lists and paused, awaiting the signal to begin.

  The rules of this tournament were not rules of battle, for no one was attempting to kill their opponents. Well, in truth, some were, but the majority here were simply trying to prove their superiority over others and win prizes, wealth, lands, brides and ransom. One could not enjoy the fruits of their labor if they were dead. So, after three broken lances, if there were no clear winner, they would continue on the ground.

  Annora begged silently once more that it would be ended, that he would be ended, with this next and, hopefully, last pass. As both horses began to stamp and paw the ground in anticipation, Annora could not breathe. Everything, her whole future could change with this one ride. She gazed at le Govic’s opponent and hoped he would be able to bring her torment to an end. The signal was given and...the horses gathered their powerful haunches and burst forward down the lane.

  She alternately could not watch and yet had to, opening and closing her eyes in a series of peeks, until the warriors were in the final yards. Then, paralyzed with fear, she watched the last few seconds and saw her hopes come to an end.

  Le Govic managed to get a direct hit on his opponent, one that was so strong it pushed Sir Robert off his horse, landed him on the ground and knocked him senseless. When the dust settled, there was a moment of complete silence, and then a wave of cheering and shouting began to move through the crowds. It seemed to pause, but when the knight moved his arm—indicating that he lived—the wave rose and crashed over them all.

  Le Govic rode along the stands smiling at the adoration pouring forth for him now, passing her several times with nary a glance. The only good thing from this was that he might seek out the company of others to celebrate this triumph and keep from her. With the other knight yet before them on the ground, le Govic jumped from his horse and stood before Lord Yves and waited for the herald to announce his victory.

  Annora glanced away for a moment, her gaze moving across the three fields of honor to the far fence where a number of other knights had gathered to watch. The tallest of them drew her eye and she could swear he was looking at her, too. Then, he shook his head and turned, stalking off into the crowd and out of her sight.

  For some reason, that quick, determined exit from the field disheartened her more than le Govic’s win here. The knight did not look back, not at the fields nor in her direction, and soon he disappeared into the line of tents and the milling crowds.

  Despair trickled into her fearful heart now. Le Govic was impressive in his fight. Annora settled back in the chair and continued watching as he took on three more challengers that day. Any attempt on her part to leave, even for sustenance or comfort, was met with refusal on her father’s part. Was he punishing her for refusing the man’s attempts to take her? Or just showing his domination over her before the powerful baron?

  Hours later, as le Govic, winded and exhausted, accepted the congratulations of Lord Yves and the adoration of many willing women around her, she understood her father’s message.

  There was no way out of this for her.

  She’d nearly given up all hope as he beat Sir Robert, then Sir George and then battled Sir Dougal. But something tickled her thoughts as she watched him recover and reposition and ready himself for the next ride. Something was wrong here, yet she could not make sense of what bothered her about the way he fought. Nay, she could not narrow down what made her suspicious, but she knew there was something. Somehow it was connected to his action in their tent earlier.

  Something was not right.

  Pray God, she would sort it out before Thomas faced him on the field for their challenge on behalf of the Scottish king

  Pray God.

  At Lord Yves’s third request, her father relented and sent her off to eat and “refresh herself” in their tent, with a demand for her swift return. Although the nobleman had invited her to supper in the hall, her father managed to refuse without insulting their host. Somehow, the enigmatic lord did get him to agree she could break her fast in the hall in the morning. The reason for that, she knew not, but then having accomplished something he apparently wanted, the baron turned his attention to a few of the other honored guests and allowed his probing gaze to move elsewhere.

  Did Lord Yves know her true feelings in the matter? Was he part of her father’s questionable plan here at the tourney? Sadly, she had no true idea of what enterprise her father was involved in with others. Should she worry? She could do nothing to influence her father in this, nor could she ask him to explain his part, or that of Prince John’s or any of the others who seemed drawn into this matter.

  Lives, ones more important than hers, were at stake when kings clashed or plotted.

  Once freed from her father’s tight grasp, she found Margaret and went over to the place where vendors sold their food and filled her belly. All the while, she kept watching to see if Thomas would appear. Though he’d left the field after le Govic’s first victory, she did not believe he’d simply walked away. There was too much at stake for him to give up the chance of watching his opponent face others at varying levels of skill and experience. Even if they had fought before...

  The crumbs of the meat pie caught in her throat then, and she coughed to clear them. After Margaret slammed her hand on Annora’s back several times, and after a mouthful of ale, the blockage was gone, and Annora could think once more.

  These two men had met in battle or on the field before. From the bits of conversation and whispered words she’d overheard, even when Thomas first came to Prudhoe Castle, she knew they had known each other and fought before. And yet, it had never entered her mind to ask him about it.

  Well, truthfully, once in his tent, there were other matters to discuss. Other arrangements to make. Her body reacted to the memories of their encounter, and heat spread through her. Anno
ra closed her eyes and tried to banish those errant desires. When she opened them, ’twas as though her thoughts had conjured him up before her.

  “My lady,” he said in a soft tone as he claimed a place at her side on the bench on which she sat. To Annora’s amazement, Margaret nodded at him and left without a word or glance at her.

  “Sir.”

  He gazed at her with a challenge in his dark brown eyes.

  She met it. “How is it that you control my maid?” Much to her annoyance, jealousy entered her tone. She cleared her throat. “Why would Margaret leave without my permission?”

  There. That sounded less suspicious, but only the tone had changed, not the wave of jealousy that pierced her at the idea that Thomas and her own maid were somehow connected. And remembering the words and praises of the women she’d overheard speaking about him, why did her mind go to that reason as the only possibility? She let out a sigh then, not wishing to believe herself jealous of her maid while feeling the burn of it coursing through her veins.

  “Fear not, my lady. I but asked her for some time alone with you,” he said.

  Before she could speak, he slid his hand over hers on the rough wooden table and moved them both to the space, the very small space, between them on the bench. The gasp that escaped her as he entwined their fingers and rested their hands on her leg could not be helped. Glancing around, she hoped no one would notice his action or her reaction.

  “I assure you that you hold her loyalty.”

  Annora tried to disengage her hand, but he only tightened his grasp. And her attempt simply made his hand slide along her thigh as he held on. A sudden tightness gathered within her at the intimate touch.

  “Why have you sent her away then? If we have nothing to fear from her?”

  “I would speak to you alone.”

  He lifted their hands to his mouth then, and he kissed hers before she could stop him. It took a few moments before she realized he’d released hers, and it yet remained near his mouth as though wanting more. And she could not want more!